The Best Worst Day Ever
by SunnyInOregon
Summary: The Cubs are about to win their first World Series in 108 years. Surrounded by friends he calls family, David Rossi can only think about the time before he knew about baseball and the Cubs and how they became so important to him. TISSUE WARNING


**November 2, 2016**

Dave steps out of the kitchen and stops to take in the group of people crowded into his living room. How, he wondered, did his family get so large? The entire team with their significant others and children were gathered in his living room. It was a big night, the Cubs, his beloved Cubs, were playing in the seventh and final game of the World Series and all these people had gathered to watch the game with him.

It had all began because he had casually mentioned to Penelope that he had never watched a game with his Dad or any other family member before and how he wished that he had someone to watch this special game with him. She, of course, took that as an invitation to invite all of their friends and family over. It wasn't exactly what he had been hoping for, honestly, he just wanted it to be her, but he wasn't going to complain.

"Come on, handsome," Penelope smiles as she grabs his arm. "The game is about to begin."

Dave allows her to drag him into the fray. They settle into the couch, his arm around her shoulders, her hand on his thigh. As the announcers begin their spiel, his mind wanders to the time when he had no idea who the Cubs were or how important they were to become to him.

**June 1963**

Eight-year-old, David Stephen Rossi, grabs the handle on the heavy metal door, he pulls it open with one hand. He carries a brown paper bag in the other hand. The door creaks loudly through the dim interior of the old warehouse. Slipping inside, the heavy door slams shut knocking him in the back causing him to fall to his knees. He holds the bag high hoping not to drop it.

"Who the hell is over there," a voice calls out from the dark. Footsteps thud on the compact dirt.

Davey, as his Mother calls him, rises shakily to his feet, and brushes off his knees. A pair of large, dirt-covered work boots stops in front of him. He slowly gazes upward and swallows hard when he sees the face of the man in front of him. Hardened by years of bad experiences, the man rarely cracks a smile. He's the Capo, the boss of the local set of gangsters.

"What the hell are you doing in here," the growls.

Davey holds up the brown paper bag. "I brought you your coffee."

The Capo's eyes narrow. "That's Jimmy's job. What'd you do, knock him off?"

Davey's eyes widen, he shakes his head. "He broke his foot jumping out of a tree last night. His Mom wouldn't let him out of the house. He said if I brought you the coffee, you'd give me a nickel."

"A nickel? That's more than this coffee is worth," the man argues.

Davey shrugs. "If you don't want it, I'll go sell it to someone else."

The man crouches down and sizes Davey up. "You're going to sell MY coffee to someone else?"

Davey raises his shoulders again. "I need a nickel."

"What do you need a nickel for?"

"My Mom said if I could save five dollars, she would give me another five dollars to buy a bicycle," Davey explains.

"Humph", the Capo grunts. "How much you got so far?"

"Seventy five cents," Davey responds proudly. "I've been mowing lawns and yesterday, I washed old man Gracino's car. He gave me a dime!"

The Capo rises from his crouch. He digs into his pocket and pulls out a piece of metal, gives it a once over and offers it to Davey. "You're an enterprising young man. Keep the change."

Davey hands over the bag and takes the offered coin. "Whoa! Thank you, Mister…"

"JD," the man responds. "What's your name?"

"David Stephen Rossi," Davey responds. "My Mom calls me Davey."

The man, JD, holds out his right hand. Davey looks at it confused. "Shake my hand, Davey, that's what men do when they introduce themselves. Hasn't your Dad taught you that?"

Davey puts his hand in the Capo's large appendage, they shake hands. "I don't know my Dad. My Mom said he ran off to Chicago after I was born."

"Huh, I'm from Chicago. Maybe I know him. What's his name?"

Davey shrugs again. "I don't know."

"Interesting."

JD turns away and heads deeper into the warehouse "Come on, kid," he calls over his shoulder.

"But I have to…"

JD stops and looks back. "You want to make some more money, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then come on. I ain't got all day."

The man swivels away again, he disappears in the darkness. Davey hesitates. He looks at the coin laying in his hand; a brand-new quarter. Carefully, he tucks the quarter in his pocket. He glances at the door, his Mother would wonder where he was – well, he'd talk to her about it later. He had money to make.

He trots into the darkness of the warehouse, following the echoing thuds of JD's boots.

The sun was just dipping past the rooftops when Davey bounds the steps and races into the small white house he shares with his Mother. The screen door slams shut announcing his arrival.

"Davey?" his Mother calls from the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies as he heads for the bathroom.

She appears in the doorway of the kitchen. "Stop."

He skids to a halt and faces her.

"Where have you been all day?"

"Working," he replies shortly. He reaches into his pant pocket and pulls out a collection of coins to show her. "Look, I made a dollar today."

She glances at the coins in his dirty hand. She frowns. "What have you been doing? Digging a ditch with your hands?"

"No ma'am," he giggles. "Jimmy Reynolds broke his foot, so I did his job today."

She stares at him for a moment. "They paid you a whole dollar?"

He nods.

"What kind of work were you doing," she questions.

"Running errands, getting coffee and lunch."

"You need to split that with Jimmy," she tells him.

"But it's mine," he protests. He stomps a foot on the floor. "He doesn't share with me."

"You wouldn't have anything if Jimmy hadn't broken his foot," she says. "It's his job and you did him a favor. Now you can share with Jimmy or you can give it all to me and I will give it to Jimmy. Your choice."

She holds out her hand. He looks at it. "Are you going to share with Jimmy?"

Davey lowers his head, his lower lip quivers. "Yes, ma'am." He turns around and heads for the front door.

"Go wash your hands first and let's eat dinner. You can go over to Jimmy's afterwards," she tells him.

"It'll be dark by then," he reminds her.

"I'll watch you from the porch," she replies as she heads back into the kitchen.

Davey goes to his room and drops the change on the dresser. He stares at it longingly for a few moments. He separates the money into two piles. One pile has the quarter, three nickels and a dime. The other has six nickels and two dimes.

He opens the bottom drawer of the dresser, fishes through the clothes and pulls out a cigar box. Opening the box, he sets it on the dresser and picks up the quarter. He examines it closely before setting it in the box and closing the lid. He tucks the cigar box back into the drawer making certain the straighten the clothes around it.

He grabs the three nickels and the dime then drops them into the jelly jar that sits on the dresser. The coins click loudly as they land on the other coins already in the jar. He sweeps the rest of the money into his palm and deposits it in his pocket. Slowly, he leaves the room to wash his hands and eat dinner.

Later that night, Davey lays in bed staring at the ceiling. Jimmy had been grateful when Davey handed him the coins from his days work. The older boy was surprised when he heard how much Davey had made for the day, he usually made about thirty cents, if he was really busy. But then, Jimmy surmised, he never worked directly for the Capo before.

Davey startled when he heard a sharp knock on the front door. He looks at the wind-up clock next to his bed. It was just past ten. Who, he wondered, would be visiting at this hour? Quietly, he slips out of bed, pads to the door and opens it slowly. He creeps to the end of the hall stopping in the shadow.

His Mother stands in the open doorway, the porchlight was on, but the person was blocked from Davey's view. Their voices were muffled, so Davey could only hear a word or two.

"Just take the damn money," a male voice insisted.

"We don't need your help," his Mother replies coldly.

Their voices drop again. Davey shifts, trying to see the man through the crack in the door. The voice is familiar, but he's not certain where he heard it before. His Mother steps back and starts to close the door.

"I'll stop by again later," the man states.

"Don't bother," his Mother says. She steps back and closes the door firmly.

Davey watches from the hallway as she wraps her arms around herself. She sniffles, then wipes a tear from her eyes before slipping across the room and sitting on the couch. Davey backs further into the shadows, quietly returning to his room. He closes the door then races to his window to peer out into the night.

He spots a shadow standing at the end of the driveway staring at his house. As Davey watches, the man pulls out a cigarette from his coat. He places it between his lips. He strikes a match, lighting his face. Davey gasps. He knows that man.

"What are you doing today," Davey's Mother asks as she places a plate in front of him.

He shrugs. "Try to make some more money, I guess."

"That's fine. But I don't want you working Jimmy's job again," she tells him. "Find something else."

"Jimmy said that he never worked for JD, so I didn't really work his job. Did I," Davey questions.

"I guess not," she complies. "But I don't want you working for him anymore."

"Why not? He's a good guy."

She laughs. "No, he's not. Maybe Mr. Johnson will let you help him at the hardware store for a while."

Davey makes a face. "I don't like him. He smells funny. Besides, JD's got lots of money, he must be a good guy."

"It's not what is in a man's pockets that makes him a good man – it's what's in his heart."

Davey chews on a piece of toast and watches his Mom move around the kitchen. "Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"What's my Dad's name?"

She looks over her shoulder at him. "Why?"

"I told JD that my dad lived in Chicago and he asked me what his name was because he thought he might know him," Davey explains.

"Chicago is a huge city, like New York. I doubt that JD knows your Dad. Besides, you're not going to see JD again, right?"

She levels him with a hard look. He looks at her and shifts on his chair. "I guess not. But what if I see him at church or something…"

His Mother chuckles. "I think we'll be safe. Finish your breakfast so I can wash the dishes and get to the rest of my chores."

"Yes ma'am," he replies as he stuffs the remains of his toast in his mouth.

Davey stares through the chain-link fence watching a group of boys play baseball. He sighs and scuffs his shoe in the dirt.

"Where the hell you been boy?" He turns to see JD walking over to him. "I had to get my own coffee."

"My Mom said I couldn't see you today," Davey says quietly.

"Oh, I see," JD nods. He stands next to Davey and stares through the fence at the ball game. "How come you're not playing?"

Davey looks back at the other kids. "I don't know how."

"You don't know… I forgot. Your Dad left and went to Chicago."

Davey glances up at him and nods even though JD is still looking at the game. "Do you know how to play?"

JD looks down at him. "Baseball? Oh, yeah, I know how to play. I could have played for the Cubs if I wanted to."

"The what?"

"The Cubs. The Chicago Cubs baseball team," JD states. "You don't know the Cubs?"

Davey shakes his head.

JD chuckles. "Well, that's too bad. The Cubs are the best team in baseball."

"Jimmy's Dad said the Yankees were the best team in baseball," Davey tells him.

"The Yankees?! Are you kidding me," JD scoffs.

"He used to like the Dodgers but now he calls them the Bums and he hates them," Davey says perfunctorily.

"You got a baseball glove?"

"No."

"Come on," JD said. He places a hand on Davey's shoulder.

"Step forward with your left foot as you throw with your right hand," JD coaxed.

Davey concentrates as he follows the instructions. His throw goes to the left, but the older man quickly sidesteps and catches the ball.

"That was better," JD praises. He tosses the ball back.

Davey watches the ball all the way into the new mitt covering his left hand. He grinds the ball into the palm of the mitt and adjusts his grip. He throws the ball again. This time JD only leans to the right to catch the ball.

"When do I get to hit the ball," Davey asks excitedly.

"First, you catch and throw. Once you can do that consistently, I'll show you how to hit," JD promises.

"Can I take this home with me, please?"

JD chuckles. "I want to say yes, but your Mom is going to want to know where you got it from and then she's going to be mad when you tell her I gave it to you. You're not supposed to see me today. Remember?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Davey states. "Maybe you could come over again and talk to her."

"What are you talking about," JD asks. He tosses the ball again. "I've never been to your house."

Davey frowns. He catches the ball and holds it in his mitt. "I saw you. Last night."

JD gives him a perplexed look. "I don't know what you're talking about, son."

"I could've sworn I saw you talking to my Mom last night," Davey says quietly.

"You must have been dreaming," JD says as he walks closer. "You probably should head home though. Your Mom's going to get worried."

Davey's shoulders droop.

"What's the matter?"

"She's going to ask me what I did today," Davey says worriedly.

"Tell her the truth. You went to the park and you learned how to play baseball," JD says. "You don't have to tell her who taught you."

Davey takes off his mitt and hands it to JD. "Thanks for teaching me how to throw a baseball."

JD ruffles Davey's hair. "You're welcome. See you tomorrow?"

Davey smiles widely. "Yep. See you tomorrow."

Davey spent the rest of the Summer, playing baseball and doing odd jobs for JD. By September, he had more than enough money to buy his bicycle. He rode his bicycle every day to school even when it started raining.

The first Saturday in November, Davey gets up early and heads out on his bike. He rides around several puddles and avoids traffic as much as he can. He rides to the local department store where he parks his bike under an awning to keep it dry. He hurries into the store and stops in te middle of the entryway.

"Can I help you," a woman asks.

Davey looks at her smiling face. "I need to get a present for my… my friend."

"Did you have something in mind," she questions.

"A handkerchief," he replies. "My Mom says that every gentleman has a handkerchief."

"Over there, just past the socks," she states as she points to his right.

"Thank you," Davey says. He moves off to the area she pointed out.

It only takes him a few minutes to find one that he likes. He takes it to the counter and pulls a large wad of change out of his pocket. The cashier rings him up and counts out the change pushing the extra back at him. Davey tucks the change and the present in his pocket, goes outside and hops on his bike.

He peddles quickly through the rain to the warehouse where JD and his boys hang out. Davey leans his bike against the wall and covers it with the tarp JD had provided. He slips into the warehouse and makes his way to the back. JD sits on a makeshift couch, feet on the table in front of him, he smokes a cigar and sips at a glass of whiskey.

"There's my boy," JD says when he sees Davey. "Come sit with me."

Davey hops onto the couch. JD puts his arm around Davey and gives him a hug. "Happy birthday," Davey says.

JD chuckles and kisses Davey on the temple. "You're a good boy, Davey. You need to stay that way, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do something good in the world, little man. Do something good. Promise?"

"Yes, sir."

Everyone in the room laughs. Suddenly, the door slams open. "Take cover," a voice yells.

All the men pull out guns and take up defensive positions. JD grabs Davey and pulls him to the side of the warehouse. JD kicks open a hole in the wall, he shoves Davey towards it.

"Get out, Davey. Run," JD orders. JD runs back into the heart of the warehouse as the main door flies open. Gun fire fills the room.

Davey ducks behind a crate. He covers his ears and squeezes his eyes shut. After several minutes, the gun fire ends. Several car doors slam shut, engines roar before tires squeal. Davey crawls out of his hiding space.

He makes his way carefully through the warehouse. He stops and gasps as he sees one of the guys lying motionless in the middle of the floor, eyes open, mouth agape – the man is covered in blood. Davey chokes back a cry. He continues through the warehouse until he sees JD laying on the floor, struggling to breathe. Davey runs to his side.

"I told you to run," JD gasps.

Davey kneels down, he places a hand on JD's shoulder. "I couldn't leave you."

"You're a good boy, Davey," he gasps. "Do you know who I am?"

Davey nods. "You're JD."

The older man smiles. He coughs and blood trickles out of his mouth. "My actual name, my full name, is James David Rossi. I'm your Dad."

Davey blinks. "My Dad?"

JD nods. "Take care of your Mom. Be your own man. I love you, son. More than you'll ever know."

JD let out one last breath.

"Dad? Dad?"

Tears roll down his cheeks, his body trembles as he processes what has just occurred. He lets out a loud cry and hunches over the body of the man he loved more than anyone else.

"David? Honey?"

Penelope's voice breaks through his thoughts. Dave blinks and looks around. His eyes land on the television screen where the Cubs players celebrate their first world series win in one hundred and eight years.

"Are you okay," Penelope asks.

A single tear rolls down Dave's cheek. "I'm good."

She wipes the tear away. "Are you sure? Because I imagined something completely different to the end of this game."

"I was just thinking about my Dad. Today was his birthday," he tells her. He gestures to the television. "He would have liked this. The Cubs were his team."

She slides her hand over his shoulder and touches his neck. "Well, now they are our team."

"Our team?"

She smiles and nods.

"If you say so, sweetheart."

They share a kiss before celebrating with the rest of the family. Dave surreptitiously pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. He rubs his thumb over the well-worn cloth of the present he purchased so many years ago. He slips it back into his pocket and grabs a glass of whiskey, toasting his Father and the Cubs.

Finis


End file.
